Cicada Song, Page 3

  Chapter 2

  Ellis closed the door and held his overstuffed belly. Maybe he should have taken Melba up on that offer. A warm bed and food like that? He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

  In addition to her guests, Melba had also fed the locals passing by for an early morning breakfast, both Percy Helton and Arthur Harris among them. Melba proved to be a splendid hostess and a fantastic cook. She not only made the food and presented it but also sat with her guests and participated in the discussion. Not knowing Anderson’s regulars, Ellis felt lost to a good portion of the conversation. He became interested, however, when Melba began asking about Phil.

  “Don’t you worry about him,” Arthur had told her. “He slept it off and we sent him walking first thing this morning. He’s harmless now.”

  “Does he have somewhere to stay?” she asked.

  “He’ll find somewhere, Annie’s maybe, but don’t you worry about it. You did your part.”

  “You ask me,” Percy broke in, “boy’s better left out on the street. Sober up or get out’s what I say.”

  Ellis couldn’t help but laugh.

  “That’s ironic coming from a bartender” he said.

  “I run a clean ship,” Percy answered with a stern nod. “I don’t let a single patron get too much to drink. Cut them off at the first hiccup.”

  “We’re a pretty dry town, too,” Arthur added. “Half of us barely drink and the others do it in moderation, save the Catholics.”

  Percy chuckled hardily. “Half my business right there! If not for St. Peter’s, I’d be sellin’ nothin’ but that girly stuff you drink.”

  When breakfast was finished, Ellis thanked them and asked where he could find the library.

  Now, as Melba’s bed and breakfast faded in the rearview mirror, he couldn’t help but feel the love of this small town. He had never been somewhere this small but the unity of its people appealed to him, and he wondered if there was a way to bottle that familiarity and take it home.

  He rounded a corner and saw what looked to be an old two-story home with books in the windows and a sign in the front yard reading The J. Campbell Library. Ellis pulled into the drive and spied another car parked at the farthest end of the driveway. Percy’s pianist sat on its hood and was now waving him over.

  “Good morning,” the pianist said as Ellis exited the car.

  “It’s not bad.”

  The pianist simply stared at Ellis, smiling broadly. This, of course, made Ellis feel a tad uncomfortable.

  “So you’re a pretty boy, huh?” the pianist finally said.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  The pianist laughed lightly and hopped off of the hood. “I just wanted to meet you. Talk in town says you’re the man who saved Melba Acres last night. Phil Guthrie was on a rampage, I hear.”

  “I stepped in, yes,” Ellis said quickly. “Were you expecting me?”

  “People talk. I knew you’d be here. You see, Melba Acres is my mother, and Phil can get pretty irate while drunk. Thing is, I’m usually there to calm him down. I couldn’t be there last night, but since you stepped in, I thought I’d offer to take you out for a waffle or something.”

  “I just ate, sorry. You’re mother’s a very good cook.”

  “It gets old after a while.”

  The pianist challenged Ellis with a stare and Ellis met it without wavering, hoping to prove himself superior in this elementary display of intimidation.

  “Well,” Ellis finally said, growing bored of the game. “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t thank you,” the pianist quickly corrected.

  Ellis’ face grew firm, but the pianist simply smiled and extended a hand. “My name’s Stan.”

  “Ellis,” he responded, reluctantly taking Stan’s hand.

  “I know.”

  “Stan Acres,” Ellis said plainly, memorizing the name for future inquiries.

  “It’s Stanley Cromwell Jr., actually. Mom never took my father’s name, the Women’s Movement and all that crap.”

  Ellis nodded and, having had enough of this conversation, tried to excuse himself.

  “How long are you staying?” Stan asked after Ellis had taken several steps toward the library door.

  “Just a few days.”

  “Sounds good.”

  With nothing else to say, Ellis entered the library while Stan fired up his car and headed out. He took a moment to collect himself, clearing the encounter with Stan from his mind, and then walked down the shallow hallway toward the first room.

  The J. Campbell Library wasn’t at all what he was expecting. He was used to the large, businesslike libraries from home, but this one was literally just a two story house. Instead of the normal home fixings, however, there were shelves filled to the brim with books, separated by genre and author. He currently stood in what had once been a family room, and to his left was a flight of stairs with a sign pointing upward toward the bathroom and internet. Leaving the family room, Ellis found himself in the romance and historical fiction section, which seemed to have once been a dining area. He picked up an old hardback and began thumbing through it when he was interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Should I have knocked?”

  Ellis turned toward the voice but the beauty of its owner surprised him. Her curled dark hair pulled loosely into a ponytail at the base of her neck served only to enhance the aged beauty of her face. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes pointed toward their intense blueness, and Ellis laughed inwardly at his initial attraction, reminding himself that this woman was old enough to be his mother.

  “No,” the woman said with a smile. “J. Campbell’s is open to the public.”

  “Oh, I’m actually here to see someone. Beverly Campbell.”

  “I’m Ms. Beverly—and you’re Ellis Barnes.”

  Percy had mentioned that Ms. Beverly was a looker, and he was right. On top of her looks she also had a soft voice with a faint rumble behind it. This type of voice had always struck Ellis as being incredibly sexy. He finally smiled and offered a hand. It was kindly accepted.

  “The picture on the inside cover isn’t nearly as handsome.”

  “Thank you,” he said quickly but stopped before commenting on her own attractiveness. “And thank you for calling me.”

  Ms. Beverly turned toward the next portion of the house and motioned for him to follow.

  “Believe me, Mr. Barnes, it was my pleasure. I was out with an old friend when we came across one of your books at a flea market. It honestly didn’t appeal to me but my friend bought it and called me several days later. She saw something in your story so I thought I’d give it a read. I obviously enjoyed it.”

  “Thank you for the book signing opportunity. I have to ask, though, with the size of Anderson do you think there’ll be much of a turnout?”

  Ms. Beverly went to a small shelf under a window, gently slid a book from its place, and handed it to Ellis. The book was bound in red buckram and lacked any sort of special detail other than golden text on the spine reading Cicada Song ‘87 by Ms. Beverly Campbell. He thumbed through it and found pictures displaying people in interesting costumes and booths full of products. Ms. Beverly’s contribution seemed to be detailing the event minute-by-minute in narrative form.

  Ms. Beverly peered over Ellis’ shoulder and seemed to be enjoying his interest. Then she took a step back and smiled when he closed the book.

  “Anderson is a small town, but we like to do things to make ourselves feel big. We have a festival every year, but we go a bit overboard every seventeen years when the cicadas run amok. We’re a town of hundreds, but we’re expecting well over a thousand for this year’s Cicada Song. I hear that Annie’s is almost packed, and several hotels outside of Anderson are filling up. It’s a pretty big deal.”

  Ellis thought it was odd that Anderson celebrated the year of the cicada. He found the bugs more annoying than anything. Their incessant chirping, or s
ong as some call it, grated on his nerves; more than that, he hated when they clung to his clothing or randomly pelted his neck. He wasn’t one to turn down publicity, however, so he put on a smile and pretended to appreciate the notion.

  “Seventeen years? That’s really something.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ms. Beverly said. “The tradition began in 1936 when the then-mayor’s first grandchildren were born—twins. To celebrate, he made the festival extra special and dubbed it Cicada Song. Exactly seventeen years later, when both girls were lost in an automobile accident, their grandfather motioned for another Cicada Song celebration in remembrance. This was done and has been done every seventeen years since. It isn’t supposed to be a sad thing but we still take time out of our week to remember those we’ve lost. This year will be our fifth Cicada Song celebration.”

  Ellis nodded. “So what does this festival have to do with me?”

  “We theme each day of Cicada Song, and I’ve been given Tuesday. I am calling it Life is a Book, and I would like you to be one of the attractions. Sign some books, talk it up with the townspeople, sell to them and make a profit. With how small Anderson is you’d likely become a celebrity in their eyes.”

  Ellis laughed, feeling a little embarrassed. “I’m not a celebrity. I’m self-published and sell my writings out of my car. I appreciate the compliment, but I don’t want you to think I’m more important than I actually am.”

  It was now Ms. Beverly’s turn to laugh. “I didn’t say you were a celebrity, I said you’d be a celebrity in their eyes. The people of Anderson, me included, are simple folk, and to have a genuine author in our midst might be a little overwhelming.”

  Ellis smirked and held up the copy of Cicada Song ‘87 with Ms. Beverly’s name on it.

  She smiled and snatched it out of his hand, but the smile faded just as quickly as it had come. “I didn’t want to forget, so I wrote it all down. We had just arrived in Anderson the week of Cicada Song, and I was mesmerized by how personable everyone was. My husband collected the pictures and had it bound for my birthday.” She solemnly flipped to the final four pages which were filled with signatures. “He got everyone he could to sign it.”

  “Sounds like a good man.”

  “He was.”

  Ellis didn’t know Ms. Beverly well enough to question what she meant by was, so he simply stared at his feet while she slid the book back into its place. She was smiling again when she turned and asked if he would like a drink. He accepted, despite not being very thirsty, and followed her into a kitchen that resembled a lounge for casual reading. She pulled a pitcher of sweet tea from the refrigerator and poured two glasses.

  “This library,” Ms. Beverly said, waving her sweet tea around, “was Jerry’s idea. He and I loved to read, and he liked the idea of bringing books to people who didn’t have them. We did some evangelical work, handing out bibles, but that wasn’t really our calling. Jerry was a school teacher, and he heard that Anderson’s reading levels were below average. He looked into it and found that they didn’t have a public library and that their school system had only the bare essentials. There was a vacant position for a second grade teacher, and Jerry didn’t hesitate to apply.

  “While he took to the classroom, I worked to find every discount bin and yard sale in neighboring counties, scrounging for every book I could afford. We took a loan out on this house and began renovations immediately. We opened that first room eight months after buying the house, and the books were all checked out by week’s end. People began donating their books, and we were renovating the next room before long. The people of Anderson appreciated our loaning out books and they’ve returned them for the most part. I don’t believe it to be a coincidence that the reading levels have grown dramatically over the past seventeen years. I’d like to think that my husband is responsible for that.”

  “So the J. Campbell Library was named after your husband, Jerry?”

  “Yes. He never liked that I named it after him; Jerry was selfless like that. Now I consider it a memorial to a great man who had a genuine passion to see people learn.”

  Feeling where the conversation was heading, Ellis decided to just get right to it. “And Jerry’s gone now?”

  “Yes, for fifteen years. We had just opened the last room on the first floor when they diagnosed him with lung cancer. The town opened up to us, helped us run the library, but Jerry passed away after only six months.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Ms. Beverly seemed to recognize the curiosity in his eyes and smiled.

  “You’re wondering why I haven’t moved on?”

  “Forgive me for saying so but you’re an attractive woman. Fifteen years is a long time.”

  “I’ve had offers, even a few dates, but I could never love another like I loved Jerry. And thus, I remain alone.”

  “I can understand that, but it must be lonely.”

  “A blunt young man, aren’t you?”

  “I get it from my father. Forgive me if I offend.”

  “Not at all,” Ms. Beverly said with a smile. The lines at the corners of her eyes creased slightly. “It is lonely, but I’m not entirely alone. I have my daughter, Sara, and the town has been very supportive.” She led him to the front window of the first room. “Do you see that small house across the street? I had trouble keeping up with the library’s bills after Jerry died and thought Sara and I would have to move. Holy Faith Pentecostal owned that house and gave it to us free of charge, and then they took over the payments for the library. They even left it in my name when it was paid off. Now I own both our home and the library, and it was all thanks to the church. They did it to repay Jerry and me for what we had brought to the community, despite the fact that we hadn’t lived here all that long.”

  “Wow,” Ellis said, genuinely surprised.

  “Jerry was raised Pentecostal and I converted to a Catholic church in my teen years, so we disagreed on which of the two churches to attend, St. Peter’s or Holy Faith. We ended up going back and forth and grew to love them both, so when Jerry died they all felt our loss. While St. Peter’s is a good church with good people, I was awed by what Holy Faith did for Sara and me. I’ve been attending ever since.” Ms. Beverly’s eyes strayed in thought, but then she smiled mischievously. “It is Sunday, you know, and I missed service this morning thanks to you.”

  Ellis smirked and held up his glass of tea. “Then forgive me. I suppose I owe you a couple Hail Marys?”

  Ms. Beverly laughed and shook her head sternly. “But that would be a Catholic thing to do, and I am a Protestant woman now. Perhaps you would like to repay me by attending tonight’s service?”

  Ellis’ smile faded. “I’m sorry, but I’m not particularly fond of churches.”

  “And why is that?”

  Ellis sighed. He wasn’t fond of religious discussions either, but she had shared something personal with him. “I’ve been hurt by churches before.”

  “Churches or people in churches?”

  Ellis hesitated. “Well, I suppose people in churches. It all brings back unfriendly memories, nonetheless.”

  Ms. Beverly nodded and steadied her gaze out the front window. “I’m not a preacher, Mr. Barnes; but, if I were, I’d explain to you how people are flawed, no matter how religious they are, and that they will always let you down. A church is, after all, just a place where imperfect individuals gather. I recommend that you forgive whoever it was that offended you so that you might move on with your life, but please, do not blame an entire congregation of people for the faults of a few.”

  Ellis wasn’t certain what to say, so he remained silent.

  Ms. Beverly sighed and looked at Ellis apologetically, a slight smile at the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. Generalization is a pet peeve of mine. I do, however, hope that you find a way to overcome whatever it is that bothers you; otherwise, you’re just giving power to those who’ve wronged you.”

  The awkwardness didn’t quite lift, and Ms. Beverly
had done nothing to change his opinion of churches, but Ellis appealed to her anyway. “I suppose getting to know the town’s folk could help promote my books, and church is often a good place to meet people.”

  Ms. Beverly laughed softly. “The best place if you ask me.”

  “Would I have to stand up or do anything?”

  “I can make it a request that everyone ignore you?”

  The thought actually pleased him more than he let on, but he opted to simply tip his empty glass toward her. “How about no promises, but I’ll at least give it some thought.”

  “Well then, I suppose that’s the best I can ask for.”

  And there’s my out, Ellis thought to himself. Then he said, “I could have rescheduled our meeting, you know?”

  Ms. Beverly shrugged. “I overslept anyway.”

  “Geez!” Ellis blurted out, purposely over-exaggerating his sarcasm.

  Ms. Beverly laughed but then turned toward the window and waved. “That would be my daughter, Sara.”

  Ellis casually followed her glance and was surprised to find the beautiful brunette with green eyes slowly coming to a stop. Her hand was frozen mid-wave with her eyes fixed on him. A smile that had once been sincere now lingered in surprise, and he wondered if his own countenance was as awkward. Her sincerity returned a moment later, however, as she turned to wave at him as well. He smiled and his eyes remained fixed on her as she walked away. The intentional clearing of a throat reclaimed his attention, and he quickly turned to find Ms. Beverly smiling ear to ear.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “I was just being polite.”

  “Of course you were.”

  Ellis struggled to find a proper defense but recognized that he had been caught studying the walk of a beautiful woman. Ms. Beverly didn’t seem upset, however, so he casually pointed a thumb toward the window and asked, “Would you mind if I flirted with your daughter?”

  “Oh, no,” she said playfully. “Please do.”